


The Half-Your-Age-Plus-Seven Rule

by Lemon_lady



Category: NCIS
Genre: Abby is a dork, Declarations Of Love, Domestic Fluff, Ducky is oblivious, F/M, First Kiss, Idiots in Love, No Smut, Nobody asked for this and I did it anyways, Older Man/Younger Woman, Probably slightly ooc I’m only on season two please don’t kill me, Rarepair, Season/Series 01, Sharing a Bed, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:54:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25035043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lemon_lady/pseuds/Lemon_lady
Summary: He’s certain someone must have pointed out the irony that his preferred evening company goes to great pains to look like the dead servicemen he operates on during the day. The truth is he senses a kindred spirit in Abigail, she is something of a unique personality to encounter in a military institution.
Relationships: Ducky Mallard/Abby Sciuto
Comments: 9
Kudos: 15





	The Half-Your-Age-Plus-Seven Rule

**Author's Note:**

> Strolling into the NCIS fandom 17 years late with a large glass of lemonade and several rarepairs :0

Tonight is one of the rare evenings that Dr. Mallard deigns to consider the opinions his colleagues hold of him. He finds himself cycling through well worn and somewhat entertaining speculation, while he finishes closing the chest cavity of an especially unfortunate Petty Officer. Fresh faced assistants have a peculiar habit of looking askance the first several times they hear Ducky making small talk with a corpse, 

so he hadn’t been fazed when Gerald had informed him that his unconventional methodology made for excellent break room gossip fodder. Dr. Mallard prattled on about everything from his own love affairs to bizarre accidental deaths to anyone who dared linger in autopsy, and it pleased him to know that at least some of his stories worked their way up from the basement. There were far worse things to be known for than an aging British medical examiner with a penchant for oversharing with the living and dead alike. 

The years where he had to focus the entirety of his attention on routine stitching had passed long ago. Dr. Mallards hums the opening notes of the Android Lust track that has been stuck in his head all week and allows himself to wonder what the rumor mill whispers about his relationship with one Abigail Scuito. He’s certain someone must have pointed out the irony that his preferred evening company goes to great pains to look like the dead servicemen he operates on during the day. The truth is he senses a kindred spirit in Abigail, she is something of a unique personality to encounter in a military institution.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to bid you goodnight now Petty Officer Astor.” Ducky tsks, deft hands flying through the final stitches. “You’ll have more of my company in the morning rest assured.” He pats the man’s shoulder with a gloved hand as he shelves him for the night. Ducky checks his wristwatch as he shrugs on his overcoat. It’s almost midnight. The special agents begin to trickle out at around half past six. Jethro can be counted on to remain stalwart at his desk until nine. Unlike most of the senior agents, Jethro has no wife to rush home too. It hasn’t escaped Ducky’s notice that his close friend's odd hours are likely part of why his three previous wives have earned their ex prefix. He’d left with Jethro on occasion but the combination of his insomnia and personal work ethic meant that he was often the last man in the building. 

Abigail Scuito, whose fondness for gas station Caf-Pow and questionable quantities of Red Bull, had screwed over her circadian rhythm enough to rmake her the last woman. The journey to forensics was especially taxing after 12 hours spent on one’s feet but Ducky rarely missed the opportunity for an evening chat with the forensic specialist. He thought about the evidence he’d gathered from the Petty Officer as he walked, hoping it would be damning enough to convict the black widow of a girlfriend Dinozzo had spent the day tailing. He found Abigail behind her desk, engrossed in whatever was on her desktop. 

He didn’t make a habit of sneaking up on people, but Abigail had long made a game of it, tiptoeing into autopsy and resting her head in the crook of his shoulder as he worked. She had startled him half out of his mind the first couple of times she’d done so. Ducky had told her as much, even threw in a guilt trip about the frequency of cardiomyopathy in men of his age range for good measure. The forensic specialist had only laughed and bounced away leaving him with a grim fear of when she’d strike next. Now he makes his way to her quietly, wheeling her screen in his direction before Abby has time to do anything but let out a surprised yelp. 

“Not looking at anything illicit on an office computer are we?” He teases, raising an eyebrow at the delicate way her skin flushes.

“Of course not.” She recovers quickly, peeling his fingers off the screen. “Move, you’ll leave prints.” She instructs, huffing in a distinctly un-Abigail esque manner. 

“My apologies.” Ducky fusses nervously with his suspender straps as she logs off.

“Duck-.” 

“I didn’t mean to violate your privacy” 

“Dude chill!” Abigail smiles weakly. “It’s fine.” 

“ _ Dude chill _ ? My dear it appears you've been spending far too much time with Dinozzo.” 

“My  _ darling _ Dr. Mallard. I absolve you of any offense given intentionally or otherwise.” She’s imitating his purple prose, an act that would have been irritating from anyone else. From Abigail? He finds it strangely endearing. 

“Are you about finished for the evening?” 

“I’ve been waiting for you for the past hour.” 

“I’m flattered.” Ducky smiles extending a hand. 

“No biggie.” She shrugs before taking it. 

“Shall I walk you to your car?” 

“I’m not sure why you bother asking.” She says as they walk through the silent halls arm in arm. “You always insist on it.” 

“A woman alone in a parking lot at this hour? Any number of things could happen. You and I know better than most that the inside of a military base does little to detract unseemly characters.” Ducky tsks. 

“I doubt you’ll be able to fight off anyone I can’t take down with a swift kick to the balls.” She points out. “Anyways. I forget how old you are sometimes.” 

“Really? I find it quite apparent.” He smiles. 

“You grew up in another time.” Abigail pokes his side halfheartedly. “Where it was a  _ man’s _ job to protect the ladies.” 

“Are you calling me a chauvinist Abigail?” 

“I’m calling you a gentleman.” She replies after a few moments of silence.

“Oh.” He holds the door for her and they step together out of NCIS headquarters, and into a clear Virginia evening. Neither of them speak. The air smells sweet, reminiscent of midnight in a meadow near his hometown. A very  _ specific _ meadow where he’d enjoyed several pleasant fumblings with women in his teenage years. He considers telling Abigail some of the more lurid details, she’s never been delicate about such matters. Ducky is a man who enjoys the sound of his own voice, but he’s not entirely out of touch. He knows when to keep his mouth shut and something tells him Abigail would prefer a silent escort tonight. 

Her car is parked only a few metres away from his own, an unassuming station wagon from the 1990’s. The inside reveals more about what its owner is partial too. The seats have been refurbished in black leather and Abigail's gathered a multitude of dashboard oddities in the years they’ve known each other. 

“Goodnight Abigail.” He tips his hat as she drops his arm and slides into the driver's seat. 

“Bye Duck.” She tells him softly. 

He feels an unfamiliar sense of melancholy as he begins the walk to his car. Their time together had been short, their interactions noticeably off since he’d surprised her at her desk. Ordinarily Abigail would have invited him into the cab and they would have talked about indie horror films or some equally obscure topic while one of her underground artists played in the background. He wonders blithely if she really  _ had _ been viewing something untoward but finds the prospect unlikely. He’s made a habit of waiting in the parking lot until Abigail gets underway safely. This evening he contents himself with thoughts of the nightcap waiting at home. Ducky begins to get nervous when Abigail's cab has remained dark and silent for three minutes but forces himself to wait another two before returning to her car at a brisk jog. The car door swings open and out she steps rubbing her temples.

“Everything alright my dear?” Ducky calls, still a few paces away. 

“My car won’t start.” She closes the distance between them. “I’d call triple A but it’s so late and-”

“They’d need to meet you at the gate.” Ducky finishes for her. “I see your dilemma.” 

“Damn it.” She curses softly. “I’ve got the  _ best  _ chocolate cake in the country in my fridge. I needed that tonight.” 

“I understand the appeal of comfort food after a difficult day. I’d be happy to drive you home.” 

“No.” She protests. “My apartment’s really out of your way. You need your beauty sleep.” 

Ducky opens his mouth to disagree and then bites his lip when he realizes she’s absolutely right. Her apartment is nearly an hour from the base in the opposite direction of his own. Getting her home tonight wasn’t a bother but picking her up in the morning would be quite the hassle considering he needed to be in autopsy by eight to continue with Petty Officer Astor.

“You’re welcome to stay at my home tonight.” He finds himself telling her, before he’s really considered it.

“Well-” Abigail begins. 

“I’m afraid I can’t promise chocolate cake, but I make a lovely nightcap. Did you know that the effects of drinking before bed have been studied for a number of years? Anecdotally, alcohol makes it easier to get to sleep but there’s evidence that imbibing increases your chance of waking up. Regardless-” He goes quiet when he notices she’s holding in a laugh. Perhaps he isn’t as self aware about when to shut up as he’d like to think. 

“That just might work…” She nods.

“Shall we head off then?” 

“Give me a second.” She sprints back to her car (an accomplishment in the high heeled boots she's wearing) before bending over to grab something from the ashtray. Her plaid skirt rides up her thighs as she does and he hurriedly faces the other direction.  _ Gentleman indeed.  _ She comes back with a bulky case of CD’s, on top of which Faith and the Muse’s 1999 Evidence of Heaven album is perfectly balanced. 

“Good choice.” 

“I’ve trained you well.” Abigail winks as they near his car. He reaches up to pull playfully at one of her pigtails and their eyes are level for a second. A pained look flashes across her face. He drops her hair and she is on the other side of the car before he’s got a chance to ask what caused it. 

As they drive Abigail sings. Her voice is the sort of rich timbre that begs for accompaniment. Ducky hums along. 

“Plague dance is on.” He tells her as soon he recognizes the opening riffs. “Would you like me to roll down the windows for you?” He waits for her face to light up, the song is Abigail’s favorite on the album, he’s always enjoyed watching her scream the lead singers incomprehensible mumbled lyrics at full volume on the deserted roads just outside the base.

“That’s alright.” She turns towards the window resting her face in her hands. He stays quiet at first, waiting for an explanation. 

“I don’t want to intrude.” Ducky starts when it becomes clear she isn’t going to offer one. “But as your friend I feel obligated. What’s bothering you?” 

“It’s nothing. I don’t want you to worry.” She squeezes his shoulder. “Today’s just been...a bit hinky.” 

“Ah” He nods thoughtfully. “Jethro is having one of his weeks. Breathing down your neck about a case?”

“I’m a big girl.” Abigail rolls her eyes. “I can  _ handle _ a moody Gibbs. It’s not that. Not even work related really.” 

“Problems with a….suitor?” Ducky hazards a guess. 

“You could say that.” She answers. 

“Abigail you’re being frustratingly nonspecific.” Ducky points out, turning up the volume. 

“I know.” She bites her lip and slumps over in the passenger seat. 

“You’re entitled to your privacy, but it’s always wonderful to hear your laugh when we spend an evening together. The crowd I perform for during the day is rather  _ dead _ .” 

“That’s  _ awful _ .” She giggles despite herself. 

“Maybe so.” He agrees. “Would you mind if I tried something to take your mind off of him?” 

“Go ahead Ducky.” 

“Divine or diabolical the vacant face of youth!” He rolls down the windows and belts along with the band's lead singer. “Powdered and rouged the Monster in its place!” He continues, voice cracking horridly. “Playing god on stage!” Ducky soldiers on. It’s a good thing he’d only come in for the last verse, He finds himself thinking. “So talented at wretchedness search Cities of Refuge!” All eyes dim past the empty seat of the honored guest.” He finishes with a painful cough that feels well worth as he watches Abigail double over giggling. 

“Did you have that  _ memorized _ ?” She manages to choke out once she regains a spot of composure.

“You said it yourself Abigail.” He smiles. “You trained me well. Blast enough music through the autopsy loudspeakers and one is inclined to learn through osmosis.” 

“Duckman. You’re wonderful.” 

“Thank you.” He tips his hat.

“I mean it!” She continues. “Medical examiner extraordinaire by day and rock star by night! Total pulp fiction material man!”

“I’m no rockstar.” He pauses. “Although that reminds me, when I was a young man I did play in a local band.” 

“What instrument?”

“Bagpipes.” 

“ _ Bagpipes.”  _ She repeats giggling. “You would Ducky. You would.” 

Ducky lives in a townhouse painted a sensible 

palladian blue. His residence is sandwiched in between two others, one of which has recently been set upon by an obnoxious young couple who insist on blaring the trashiest of top 40 hits at ungodly hours in the morning. (These antics account for the recent increase in nightcaps) 

“Let’s get you inside. I’ll make something to warm us right up.” He assures Abigail as she shivers on his doorstep. She follows him inside taking a moment to stop at each painting and paying special attention to an antique cupboard stocked with memorabilia. There’s a history behind every piece on display in his entryway, and intriguing stories on how they each came into his possession. He’d given her an extensive tour when she’d attended a soirée at his home last fall. Anthony Dinozzo and Jethro had also been present for the occasion, but only Abigail had been kind enough to peruse his collection of early 1900’s radium infused beauty products long after both men had left for home.

“Peau de Velour...” She’d squinted to read the label of an unopened jar of night cream. “Promised to give your skin a  _ charming glow of delicate color” _

“Well radium certainly gives it’s victims a glow. He’d told her. “Did you know that the so-called ghost girls of Radium Luminous Material Corporation still glow in their graves to this day? Almost a hundred years later!” 

“ _ Awesome _ .” She’d trailed an acrylic nail across the glass. 

“Radiation poisoning is an excruciating way to go. Awesome is hardly the proper terminology.” He’d shook his head in mock disappointment before grinning at her. “It is terribly fascinating of course.” 

“I love it when you go all history buff on me.” Abigail had teased, pinching his cheeks before moving on to his collection of medieval bloodletting fleams. He’d stood back and watched her for a few minutes, marveling at her youthful glee. 

Ducky does the same tonight, casting glances over his shoulder as she waltzes her way into his living room and picks up the hardcover on his coffee table. She perches on the arm of a chaise longue and he takes a seat on the sofa across from her. 

“Sewall’s  _ An Examination of Phrenology _ published in 1837 _. _ ” Abigail reads from the cover. “This is what you choose to read for fun?” 

“No my dear.” He deadpans. “I keep that visible to distract guests from the Vampire Chronicles box set I keep in my bedroom.  _ Those _ are what I read for pleasure.” 

“Really?” 

“No.” 

“Damn. I love me some Anne Rice. We could have put together a book club.” Abby snaps her fingers. “I have them all in hardcover.” 

“You would Abigail. You most certainly would.” He chuckles.

“Félicette!” Abby croons as a mottled black and white face pokes out from behind the kitchen counter. Ducky’s cat is notoriously temperamental. He’s taken to letting Félicette roam the townhouse as she pleases, leaving offerings of catnip and kibble at regular intervals. Occasionally, the feline will emerge from the shadows and curl up at his feet as he reads. But he’s learned that she doesn’t take well to being sought out for her company. The last person that had approached her was Dinozzo and he’d gone home with a nicked nose and a bruised ego. “Hi baby!” Abigail continues, rising from her seat. Ducky nervously runs a mental check of the first aid supplies he has on hand as the two draw closer. “Come here kitty.” She gets on her knees and beckons. Félicette abandons her position and stalks towards Abigail, strangely silent, before leaping into her lap. 

“My my....” Abigail comes to sit beside him on the couch, antisocial feline tucked close to her chest. “It seems that not even Félicette is immune to your charms.” 

“ _ Some _ people certainly seem to be.” She rolls her eyes.

“I suppose this has something to do with your suitor problems.” Ducky scoots closer to her. The couch, a family heirloom leans slightly left, so that Abigail’s bare leg is pressed against his trousers. He swears he can feel the warmth of her skin, even through the fabric. It’s a strange intimacy he hadn’t intended. She opens her mouth to say something, then seems to think better of it. 

“I think I’ll have that nightcap now.” Abigail tells him, staring pointedly at her lap as she strokes Félicette. 

“I’ve been enjoying lavender honey cream cocktails as of late. Does that sound all right to you?” He stands up.

“I was planning to wash down my chocolate cake 

with a tall glass of Caf-Pow and a shot of tequila. My standards are  _ incredibly _ low.” 

“Just this once I’ll restrain from lecturing you on the dangers of mixing energy drinks and alcohol.” Ducky walks to the kitchen and busies himself arranging the ingredients on the counter and retrieving his shaker from the cabinet. “Heavy cream, egg whites an ounce of lavender honey syrup…” When he looks up to check on his friend, her space on the couch is occupied only by Félicette.

“And  _ wayyyyy  _ too much vodka.” Abby whispers from behind him. He’d paused to look for her while holding the bottle of vodka above the shaker. She takes advantage of his surprise, reaches around his waist and tips the rest of the bottle's contents into the shaker. 

“That’s nearly three times the amount I was going to put in.” Ducky turns to face her, hands on his hips. 

“What?” She smiles innocently. “I was eyeballing it!

“The taste will be off.” 

“I’ll level with you Duck.” She takes a step back picking up the shaker to mix their drinks. “If you want to have a talk about my suitor problems I’m going to need a little liquid courage.” 

“If I didn’t know better Abigail. I would think that you’re embarrassed to tell me.” He retrieves their glasses from the fridge. 

“I am.” She sets the shaker down gently, holding a hand out for her glass. 

“Oh.” He frowns, hurt despite his best efforts. He’s long considered them close, in fact he’d be hard pressed to find a subject he wouldn’t discuss with her. Abigail pours her drink wordlessly, and watches as he does the same. He takes a sip. She chugs half her glass and takes a deep breath. “You don’t have to tell me. You know that?” 

“I want to tell you.” She assures him, downing the other half. “Go sit. I’m going to get myself a refill.” Ducky goes to the couch, taking a seat a respectable distance from Féllicete. 

“What do you think she’s gotten herself into now, old girl?” He whispers to the cat, who eyes him suspiciously before leaving the couch to circle Abigail’s feet as she drains the rest of the shaker. He drinks as he waits for her to join him, on edge.

“Hey.” She puts a hand on his knee after she sits. “Don’t be nervous. I’m going to talk. You’re going to tell me I’m being silly. And then, things will go back to normal.” 

“What’s this about Abigail?” He takes her hand. 

“Dinozzo.”

“Don’t tell me you two are….”

“Wait-” She stammers.

“Oh. That sounded cruel didn’t it my dear? I’m sorry. Dinozzo is..a pleasant enough man.” He backtracks 

“Ducky-”

“No no. Let me apologize. Really. You don’t have to be embarrassed! Human attraction is a peculiar thing. A relationship between a goth forensic analyst and a womanizing field agent is quite run of the mill. I just needed a moment to wrap my head around it.” 

“Well. This is off to a rough start.” Abigail groans, dropping his hand and throwing herself back into the couch cushions.

“I’m so sorry.” 

“I’m not interested in Dinozzo!” 

“Oh.” He blinks. 

“Yeah.  _ Oh _ .” She laughs wryly. “Dinozzo just happens to be annoyingly perceptual. He figured out who I  _ am _ interested in and has made it his sacred mission to run the possibility into the ground. He won’t shut up about all the reasons why it won’t work, and he’s getting in my head!”

“You want my advice? I’m not any more qualified to help you then he is.” He reminds her. 

“You’ll be able to confirm or deny it. Trust me.” 

“So it’s a man we both know well?” Ducky sighs. “If it’s not Dinozzo I’m left with only one other option. Which is unfortunate because Jethro-”

“Ugh! Stop talking.” Abby clasps her hand over his mouth without warning. “I was trying to do this with a shred of subtlety. Clearly that isn’t going to work because you’d sooner believe I was going after a man who only dates redheads!” She stands up and plants herself directly in front of him before removing her hand. Abigail’s always been taller than him but the difference is highlighted now as she towers above him. He stays silent. “Seriously?  _ Gibbs _ ?”

“I really have no idea what you’re talking about.”He’s being entirely truthful. 

“I’m attracted to you.” Abigail cups his cheek in her palm and squats so they’re on eye level. “I’ve tried to ignore it but unfortunately you’re an intelligent, nonconformist who has just the right amount of macabre to really get me going. I’d rather you heard it from me than Tony.” Ducky stares at her, retreating into his thoughts as she continues to recite platitudes about the strength of their friendship. “Hey. Duckman.” She snaps her fingers in his face. “Are you listening to me? This is the part where you call me silly and turn down my advances. Just please  _ don’t _ try to insinuate that I have a daddy kink. I’ve had enough of that from Dinozzo.” 

”The only silly thing you’re doing is assuming my feelings aren’t the same as yours.” He says after taking a moment to collect his thoughts. 

“Wait. What are you talking about?” 

“Listen to me for a moment and I’ll gladly explain.” 

“Are you saying a relationship between a goth forensic analyst and her much older medical examiner is run of the mill?” 

“You’re a goth woman with the occupation of a computer prodigy and the drinking habits of a fourteen year old Floridian. Tell me. Do you consider yourself a run of the mill person?” 

“You sure know how to compliment a girl.” Abigail teases. 

“I’ve had lots of practice.” He smiles, taking her hand and drawing her closer. “You’re a wonderful oddity.” He whispers into her hair as she lowers herself onto his lap. “The prospect of spending time with you has carried me through many difficult days.” He draws back to look at her face, even in the low lamplight of the living room he can see the color in her cheeks. He recalls her similar reaction when he’d tried to get a look at her monitor. 

“What were you looking up? When I caught you earlier.” 

“More information on the half your age plus seven rule.” She sighs.

“One of Dinozzo's criticisms?” 

“Yes. Apparently, if a woman is younger than half the man’s age plus seven the relationship is doomed to fail. 

“I wasn’t under the impression that our guido colleague read Léon Paul Blouet.” Abigail looks at him quizzically. “He’s a French author of an early 20th century love manual that’s been tentatively designated as the origin of the rule.” 

“I’m pretty sure Tony found it in one of the Redbook issues he filched from McGee.”

“Thay does seem more likely. We'll have to have a talk with him about that. ”Ducky tells her, only half joking. “I’m not used to seeing you flustered.” He confesses, tracing her jaw.

“Because I’m usually the one making you blush.” She smirks. 

“Oh  _ please _ .” He protests. “I’m not easily scandalized.” 

“Don’t worry. It’s adorable.” She grins. 

“May I kiss you Abby?” He asks, the tips of their noses almost touching. 

“I knew you were a gentleman.” She teases, brushing her lips against his cheek. “Yes. You may.” 

“Lovely.” He’s not surprised to find she’s just as interesting with her tongue in his mouth. Abby leans forward pressing into him with her entire weight. Ducky’s not entirely sure he could push her off if he tried. With her legs wrapped around his hips he’s a pleasant sort of trapped. She nips at his bottom lip and pulls, less than gently. Startled, he pulls away.

“I told you.” She grins at the scandalized expression on his face. “Did you mind that?” 

“Not at all my dear. You know my feelings on experimentation.” He kisses the spot where her collarbone meets her neck. Abigail hums softly, and slides her hand underneath a suspender strap. He turns his attention back to her lips as her hands explore his chest. She tastes like lavender, and a hint of citrus that reminds him she’s been drinking. She searches blindly for the buttons of his dress shirt as they kiss. He reaches for her hands and holds them still in his own. Ducky kisses her softly, tries to set a modest pace. Abigail pushes for escalation, struggling to free her hands. He lets her run one hand through his hair while the other creeps up his leg, asking a wordless question. He breaks the kiss. “No.” He answers brushing the hair that has escaped her pigtails behind an ear. “You’ve been drinking.” 

“Ducky.” She pouts. “I’ve thought about doing this, every night in my car, for the past six months.”

“Intimacy under the watchful eyes of the skeleton that hang off your mirror?” He teases pushing her gently to the side. She takes the hint without protest, settling down next to him and laying her head on his lap as she stretches her body out along the sofa. 

“Bonehilda would have made a good audience. Féllicete is a perfect substitute though.” She gestures to the coffee table where the cat watches them unblinking.

“I tried not to fantasize.” He admits. “Doing so made me feel like a dirty old man.”

“I happen to like dirty old men. Did the tables in autopsy ever make an appearance?” She goads, clearly trying to get a rise out of him. 

“Nothing so tacky.” He smirks, ignoring the bait. “Small things. Being your plus one to those interactive theatre showings you’re so fond of.” 

“You’d make a great Frank N. Furter.”

“It’s not just an  _ attraction _ for me Abigail.” He tells her quietly. “I don’t want to sleep with you during the witching hour after you’ve downed half a bottle and then never speak of it again. I want to take you on proper dates, to your favorite gothic nightclub, and then back here for a history channel documentary that’s so dry we end up using it as background noise for our conversation. I want to make you breakfast on one of those rare Sunday mornings where Gibbs doesn’t have us rushing to headquarters.” 

“Ducky. ” She sits up and reaches for his hand, interlacing their fingers. “It’s not some taboo sexual curiosity for me either. Your fantasies are...freakishly sweet.”

“Will you humor me for tonight then?” Ducky kisses her forehead. “Can we just sleep?” 

“Of course.” 

“Excellent.” He glances at his wristwatch. “It’s nearly two. I have a morning appointment with a Petty Officer that can not be rescheduled. The rise, never letting go of each other’s hand and make their way into his bedroom where a battered copy of  _ Interview with the Vampire _ sits open on the duvet. Abby doesn’t say a word. She just looks over at him, her mouth a perfect o of surprise. 

“Haven’t you heard. The best lies are based on truth.” He smiles placidly. 

“You’re full of surprises tonight.” 

“As are you.” He points out. 

Abigail takes a seat on the edge of his bed. He drops to his knees beside her and begins the convoluted process of taking off her combat boots. Ducky is a simple man when it comes to footwear, Abigail’s doc martens have at least five seperate networks of laces and buckles. Eventually she takes pity on him and finishes the job, setting them next to Ducky’s well worn slip ons. The shoes make an odd pair, not unlike their owners. Once she’s left for the en-suite to remove her makeup he changes into his nightclothes and finds her a clean button up. 

“Are you alright in there?” He knocks on the bathroom door. 

“Yep!” She calls back. “You don’t happen to have any eye makeup swabs squirreled away?” 

“Unfortunately I don’t.” 

“You’ll have to deal with raccoon eyes in the morning then.” 

“I don’t mind. I brought you something to wear.” 

“Thanks Duck.” She opens the door, steps outside with her top half off and laughs when he looks the other direction. “What? We’re adults. You can’t stand seeing me in a bra?”

“I’m sure you look lovely.”

“Don’t you trust yourself?” She teases.

“My dear I trust myself perfectly.” Ducky smiles. “It’s you I’m worried about.” He adds as her arms encircle his waist. 

“I’ll keep my word.” She sighs taking the shirt.

“Are you decent?” He asks after giving her a moment to dress. 

“Yep.”

He turns around to face her and grins. Abigial is wearing the shirt. Although he  _ certainly _ wouldn’t call her decent. Her hair hangs loose around her shoulders, framing her bare face. She prefers a darker lip, he’s fairly sure his own are tinted plum from the gloss she’d been wearing, but her natural color is a soft pink, still puffy from their earlier activities. He’d chosen the shirt because it was a hint small for him. It hangs loose on Abby’s slender frame but hits her upper thigh, and suddenly he’s not so sure of his implulse control. Her legs are smooth, alabaster white from a long winter spent in the forensics lab, and the amount on display makes resisting the urge to touch them that much harder. 

“Those pajamas!” She giggles, breaking the trance.

“I beg your pardon?” 

“Blue pinstriped wool?” She snorts. “No man under the age of sixty would be caught dead in those.” 

“I’m 63.” He reminds her. “And I happen to like these pajamas.”

“You’re a veritable senior citizen.” She muses. 

“I’ve qualified for AARP since you were a freshmen in highschool.” 

“ _ Oh.”  _

“A sobering thought?” He wonders pulling back the sheets. 

“It probably should be.” She crawls into bed, taking the left side. He decided to take this as a good omen, he’s always preferred the right. “But it’s not.” She assures him as he puts his glasses on the nightstand and lies down beside her. She snuggles into his back tucking her head into the crook of his shoulder. He contents himself with being the little spoon, and marvels at how well she fits. “Goodnight Ducky.” 

“Goodnight.” He lets himself relax, listening to the steady sound of her breathing. Sleep takes him easily.

Ducky opens his eyes to an empty bed. Her side still holds an imprint, but the pillow is cold. Her shoes are gone, and the shirt she’d been wearing last night is folded neatly atop his dresser. For a moment he’s terrified she’d woken up regretful and slipped out quietly to spare them both an embarrassing morning after. Then he smells something savory through the air vent and hears faint music from the hallway. He finds Abby in his kitchen, flipping bacon and jamming out to the Android Lust CD she’d bought for him last Christmas. She’s fully dressed, shoes included. 

“Morning darling!” She yells over the music. The clock above the counter reads 6:15. For once his neighbors will be the ones who curse their thin walls. And who knows, they might even discover a fondness for gothic rock and stop playing Bootylicioious on repeat. There’s a paper plate of of pancakes on the counter, and two tumblers of orange juice beside them. 

“What’s all this?” He kisses her softly, relieved beyond measure that she hasn’t rushed off. 

“Well I know it’s not a lazy Sunday. Gibbs wants me in by seven to test some DNA.... But I figured we could still fulfill a little of your fantasy and make us breakfast to go.” She continues with the bacon for a moment and then pauses, her face alight. “Oh! I almost forgot. The pancakes have chocolate chip smiley faces!” 

“I honestly can’t remember the last woman who made me pancakes with chocolate chip smiley faces.” He grins. “My mother probably, when I was a young boy. 

“Just one of the perks of dating a younger woman.” She winks. 

“ _ Dating _ .” He repeats to himself as they carry their breakfast to the car. It had been a strange night indeed. 

The drive back to headquarters is pleasant, and this time, they both sing along to Plague Song. He doesn’t think twice about taking her hand as they walk across the parking lot, not until he hears an obnoxious whoop as they pass by a pickup truck. 

“Tony.” Abby grits her teeth as he catches up with them taking in Abby’s makeup free face and recycled outfit.

“I saw your car when I came in!” He tells her. “I thought you might have just gotten here earlier than me. But I don’t have to be a profiler to figure  _ this one out _ .” He sing songs throwing an arm around Ducky’s shoulder “What did I say yesterday! You two getting together is about as likely as Kate and I hooking up?” 

“Something along those lines.” Abigail rolls her eyes. 

“Want to know what I think?” 

“Not particularly Mr. Dinozzo.” Ducky retorts. 

“I think It’s the right time for me to talk to Kate!” He laughs sprinting off towards the front door. 

“That poor woman.” Ducky laments as they watch from a comfortable distances. 

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Abigial squeezes his hand. “Stranger things have happened. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is much appreciated! <3


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